Speak No Feelings
by Gondola
Summary: Rated M for sexual things. Human AU. PrusAus Nazi Germany, WWII. A simple love between a Jewish man and a Nazi-in-training. Their love tests the barriers of allegiance and propaganda as the war rages on around them.
1. Sunday

**HE'D BEEN** watching his brother all day, waiting for him to crack. Today was going to be the day, he was sure of it. For all the ruckus the Italians had been causing, his brother had still managed to keep his composure, and had tried his best to simply go about his training as he usually would. When the Italians had first arrived, however, he'd known that eventually, the other man would snap.

They'd arrived to be trained along with these new German recruits, as Italy had been suffering losses all over Greece, and it was finally decided that the Italians would have better successes if they were just trained with Germans. That way, they'd be trained up to par with the rest of the world. Gilbert knew that most of the Germans, along with his brother, considered the Italians to be incompetent little brats, but Gilbert could tell they were just unwilling to go to war. While the Germans felt this superior need to go to war and reign victory in Germany's name, having been fed all that garbage for most of their lives, the Italians were in a state of turbulence that made them unfit for war. He could understand; what sense was there in dying in a war you had no wish to fight? If everyone else had that same lack of motivation as Gilbert, then they would all be just as misbehaved as him and the Italians.

His brother had been squaring his shoulders all day, ducking away from the Italians' racket, and although it was already nighttime, Gilbert was still waiting. He felt as though he were running a bet on when the man would crack, and he had the insider's information.

He climbed up the ladder to his top bunk and got into bed, yanking back the covers and jumping in between them. The material was itchy and uncomfortable, and hardly able to keep out the cold. When he laid in it, it was like sitting in a potato sack. Gilbert turned over and scratched his arm, shutting his eyes and trying to get to sleep. The lights weren't out yet, but they were about to be, if his brother had anything to do with it.

He shivered slightly as he waited. Fresh air seeped in through the cracks of the door, sending slight, chilling drafts his way. Groaning, Gilbert yanked his covers over his shoulders, then shivered some more. He just needed to get to sleep, that was all. Tomorrow would be Saturday, and then the day after that, obviously Sunday. That meant good food, beer, and a warm bed. He couldn't wait.

"_Schweige_!" shouted a man from below, shutting the rest of the barrack up. All eyes turned underneath Gilbert's bed, watching the broad German figure as he made his way into his bed. Gilbert grinned, throwing off his blankets again and peering over the side of the bunk. There it was, the breakdown - he'd guessed right. Now he just had to check on him. Gilbert stared, waiting for his younger brother to open his eyes. Finally, blue eyes met his own red.

"What?" the German finally said.

"Did something piss you off, Brother?" he snickered, his grin seeming to widen. The other German man ignored him, rolling over to turn his back to him. Gilbert looked past him, to the Italian that stared at Ludwig with the biggest, most terrified eyes. He gasped, before opening his mouth and screaming.

"He'a looked at'a me! Don'ta hurt'a me! Please, I'ma just a poor'a Italian man, I don'ta have any'a money! Please, I'a just ate!"

All at once, the barracks erupted into an Italian riot. It only took one frightened man to get the rest of them started, and once they started, it was hard to get them to stop. Gilbert laughed, crawling back into his bunk and bringing the blankets around himself. Once he had adjusted himself, Gilbert smiled up at the ceiling, pondering his weekend. He could deal with this for another two nights. Maybe that certain Italian was already frightened, and that alone was enough to cause an uproar. Sunday, he'd be home again.

Reveille sounded, and Gilbert groaned himself awake. He rolled over in his itchy bed again, tossing and turning just as the other soldiers did. Not Ludwig, though. He always stood right out of bed and began his morning routine. The man was a prime example of a soldier, and was treated as such. He had a lot of weight to carry on his shoulders, but, as expected, he carried it well.

Gilbert stuck his head down, looking into his brother's bed. He was still asleep? How could he still be asleep? "Ludwig," Gilbert said, waving a hand towards him, "West? Wake up, West!" He dropped down over the edge of his bunk, jumping off a pebble he'd landed on and gripping his foot. "Ow! West, wake up!" He gave his brother a shove, still balancing on one foot. Gilbert turned to the time. Well, Ludwig could probably afford to sleep another couple of minutes. He looked tired, anyway, and stressed.

Gilbert grabbed his pants from its storage, putting those on and then returning to his bunk. He opened up his pockets, looking for anything to entertain him while he wasted his time, and found a long strip of yarn. Well, that could work. Gilbert tied the two ends together, then twirled the yarn about his fingers. The man smirked to himself. He could totally dupe Ludwig with this. At the thought, he ducked down towards Ludwig's bed again, calling, "Hey, West, put your finger through this!"

Gilbert blinked, his hands falling his disappointed. Ludwig was still asleep. That was unlike him. Gilbert frowned, removing one hand from the string. Using his newly-freed hand, Gilbert grabbed onto the railing of his bunk and jumped down again. "West!" Gilbert shook his shoulder slightly. "West, wake up, you have only got-" he looked at the time again, "-ten minutes." He turned to his brother again, frowning, then released his shoulder. "Whatever. You will wake up."

Gilbert bent to gather his uniform, opening up the locker under his bed. The locker was old, rusty, and dirty, but he didn't really care about the possessions he'd brought to the camp. Who cared what kind of storage they received? All he had of importance were his boots, which he kept wrapped up in his uniform. He had, after all, no particular desire to keep it straightened out. Gilbert put on his wrinkled uniform, wiping a hand over the cinches. There was a thud, and Gilbert turned to his dazed brother.

"You are finally awake," he commented. His brother moved his eyes to him.

"What? Gilbert? What time is it?" Gilbert watched as his brother removed his blankets, standing from the scratchy sheets.

"6:55," he spoke up, looking up to the clock, then back to Ludwig. "I was trying to wake you up, but you would not budge. Think you can get ready in five minutes?"

Ludwig scowled at him, grabbing the edges of his covers. In five minutes flat, his bed was neatly made, the covers unwrinkled. The man pulled on his uniform and brushed back his hair, the familiarity of his everyday routine aiding him as he multitasked. Gilbert held out his brother's jacket, and the man took it gratefully.

"I am impressed," Gilbert smirked slightly, raising a brow at his brother, "you did that fast." He moved to stand to the left of their bunkbed, while Ludwig moved to the right.

"Everyvon, at attention!" an officer called, banging the barrack door shut. Gilbert fixed his position, straightening up in an attempt to imitate his brother's perfect posture. His shoulders fell back and squared, his chin raising.

Ludwig was busy straightening up a nearby Italian, as if the boy's posture could somehow affect his. Gilbert looked ahead, removing his eyes just in time. "Beilschmidt," Gilbert let his eyes wander as the officer stopped in front of his brother, "you look tired today."

The officers began their inspection. They were always singled out, Gilbert knew, due to Ludwig's dedication. The officer was looking for any slip up on Ludwig's part, to make him the bearer of the boot, if only just once. Never had they found anything wrong with what he did, though, and today was no different. The eyes of the officer slid up to Gilbert's bunk, and the frown on his face deepened.

"What is this mess?" Gilbert's face didn't move an inch as he was addressed, keeping his expression blank. "What are you, a child? No breakfast," the officer turned, moving back along the line and towards the barracks door. Gilbert groaned once the officer had exited, his body wilting as he let his back bend.

"I do not understand, West," he rubbed at his face. "You woke up only five minutes before, and you vere still able to get everything in order."

"You just do not try hard enough," his brother responded. Gilbert sat on the man's bed, ignoring the angry Italian that was starting to hound Ludwig. It wasn't every day that Gilbert was forced to skip breakfast, but it wasn't an abnormal occurrence. He messed up enough for their superiors to keep an eye on him, and from time to time, he suffered for it. He just didn't care enough to do as he was expected, and for that, he was punished.

"I will see you in training, Brother," Ludwig commented, and followed their comrades out.

As each soldier left for breakfast, the barracks began to empty. Seeing no reason to leave yet, Gilbert waited a while and played with his yarn, only looking up when he realized, he was the only one left. Gilbert huffed, checking the time and standing up. If he left now, he'd be early for training.

The day was surprisingly bright. He held his hand up as he exited the barrack, wincing as the sun enveloped him. Already, he could feel the sun's burn, seeping into his pallid skin.

Ignoring the burning, Gilbert moved to stand in his place, waiting for roll call to begin. Ludwig, already approaching, made his way to his brother's side, and suddenly stuck a hand in Gilbert's pocket. Gilbert grinned, replacing Ludwig's hand with his own. He felt a coarse piece of bread, already crumbling in his pocket.

As training began, Gilbert moved ahead of his brother, every-so-often casting grins behind him. He watched as his brother's face changed, eyes narrowing at him as if to say he shouldn't be looking back.

The training wasn't any different than what they were used to doing. It was rigorous, pushing the men to their limits. War was a hard time for everyone, and the officers felt that it would be better to introduce their soldiers to pain before it was forced upon them.

"What the hell happened to you?" Gilbert asked his brother as he moved to stand by him, his hands on his knees.

"Italians," Ludwig replied. Gilbert looked past his brother, finding two more panting soldiers.

"You made friends?" Gilbert grinned again, watching the two Italians.

"Parasites," Ludwig answered in English, "I do not even know zeir names."

"F-Feliciano!" the lighter haired one piped up. The two brothers looked towards them, Gilbert still hunched slightly to catch his breath.

"_Was_?" Ludwig stared at the boy.

"My'a name," the Italian still had his hands on his knees, panting, "it's'a Feliciano," Gilbert looked between a stunned German and an affable Italian, then grinned at them.

"Vell, looks like you did make some new friends, Ludvig," he clapped his brother on the back, squeezing his shoulder. "I am his older, more avesome _Bruder_, Gilbert." He held his hand out to the Italians. Feliciano reached out for it, but the other slapped down before they could meet.

"Don'ta touch him, Feli," the boy snapped. Gilbert raised a brow at him.

"But'a Lovi, he'a seems nice," Feliciano whined. "What if'a they want to be'a our friends? Lovi, we'a need friends," the Italian pouted. Lovino just scowled.

"No'a we don't. Now, let'sa go, Feli. We need to'a go take a shower before'a the _stupido_ Germans get'a there!" He grabbed Feliciano's wrist, starting to pull him along. Feliciano whined, but waved to the German men that watched them leave.

Gilbert turned to his brother. "Showers, then?" he asked, giving his brother another grin. The other shook his head slightly, ducking it and then starting towards their barrack. Gilbert sighed and followed him. At least lunch was soon. He reached into his pocket, testing the bread that had been placed there some time ago, and removed it.

He looked at it, then broke it in half. The bread was rather filthy now, and slightly crumbled, but he put it in his mouth anyway. His mouth immediately felt dry, as if the bread had soaked up all of his saliva. He tried to spit it out, just to give his mouth a chance to moisten again, but the grains stuck to his tongue. The food here was awful. Apparently, this individual compound was not as important as others, being in some indescript place in the South. Maybe it was expected that Southern Germans (and perhaps their newly-annexed, Austrian counterparts) would only do so well in the war. At least, Gilbert figured that.

The rest of the day went by decently quick. The training was more difficult than usual, not allowing the soldiers that wanted to slack off before Sunday's break any leeway. Once it was over, however, Gilbert moved quickly to the barracks, kicking off his boots when he reached his bed. The feeling of soldiers marching pounded in his chest, and he could feel excitement electrifying the air around him. People were looking forward to rowdy fights in the bar, races in the lakes, and overall, freedom from training, but Gilbert was just looking forward to his home. He grinned, looking up at his brother as he moved to sit next to him.

"Ready for bed?" he asked his brother, turning towards him. "Only a few more hours,"

Ludwig looked at him. "Just go to bed," he said, turning to his covers. Ludwig rolled his eyes, laying down as his brother began to laugh.

"Here I go," Gilbert grabbed onto the railing again, lifting himself onto his bed. He got into his covers, then shoved them down again, scratching his skin. At least he wasn't really sunburnt. He smiled to himself, shutting his eyes, and stuck his arms behind his head. The beds were just long enough to fit Ludwig, so certainly they were long enough to fit Gilbert. He stretched out, smiling still, and let the hours pass.

Reveille sounded the next morning, and Gilbert instantly jumped out of bed. He dressed himself in his uniform, then rushed to fix his bed and make it as good as his brother's. The punishment for insubordination today was a round of training, and he couldn't risk that, not when he was going home today.

He made Ludwig check over everything, then stood at attention with the other men as their superior officer began his daily rounds. "Perfect as always, Beilschmidt," the man commented, before looking up towards Gilbert's bed. He frowned, inspecting it carefully. "Now, soldier, why is it that you fail to make your bed this nicely everyday?" the officer asked, not expecting an answer. The man left after he inspected a few more bunks, and the wave of excitement that had preceded the man enveloped the barrack again.

"West, come on, let us hurry to the _Wagen_," Gilbert grabbed his brother's arm, starting to pull him towards the door. Once out of the barrack, Gilbert turned to his brother. "They will say yes to you," he said, looking up at him, "so you should go ask for it. I will wait for you right here." Ludwig narrowed his eyes at Gilbert, then nodded and went to retrieve an Auto. As soon as Gilbert turned back, two Italians bounded up in front of him.

He gave them a wide-eyed look. "Where are'a you going?" asked the light-haired one, squinting at the light reflecting off Gilbert's hair. "Everyone'a leaves during this'a day, why does'a everyone'a leave?"

Gilbert grinned. "You mean you have not heard? Ve get Sunday off. Zey let us go to town on Sunday, too," he explained, looking past Feliciano for a moment to give his glaring brother a smile.

The other only huffed. "Ve, Sunday off?" Feliciano kept squinting. "Where'a do you guys'a go?"

"Ve go home," Gilbert blinked. "Ve actually live nearby, so ve go home every _Sonntag_." He smiled to himself. All men looked forward to Sunday, for obvious reasons. Feliciano rocked on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Can'a we go'a with you?" He smiled up at Gilbert.

"Feli!" Lovino hissed, grabbing his arm. "You don'ta know anything about'a these people, don't ask'a to go home'a with them," he snapped. Feliciano whined, looking back at his brother.

"But'a Lovi, they seem'a so nice!"

"_Ja_, you can come vith us," Gilbert interjected, ignoring the complaints of the darker Italian boy. "Ve have plenty of room in ze house, und it vould be a nice change of pace to bring home some new people."

There was no arguing anymore between the Italian brothers. As they quieted down, Ludwig returned, frowning and raising a brow at his brother. "What is going on?" he questioned. Gilbert looked back at the Italians, explaining what had occurred between them, and that they would be coming home with them. Ludwig stared down at the other two, but the golden-eyed Italian no longer seemed afraid of him.

Gilbert moved to the car, getting into the passenger seat and rolling down the window. "Let us go already!" he called out. "Hurry up, Vest!" The brother started to make his way to the car, with the two Italians they were taking home wandering after him. Once they were all situated, the car was started, and the trip began. It took no more than twenty minutes to drive into town.

"Ve should stop first," the driving German spoke up. Gilbert groaned.

"No, we can just come back," he frowned at Ludwig, "you can come back vith Grandfather, or something, I do not vant to stop right now." He turned his gaze back out of the open window, tapping his fingers on the outside of the car. Ludwig narrowed his eyes at his brother, but didn't stop. He kept the car moving, until he finally slowed in front of a simple, undecorated house. The Italians bounded out, looking up at the house with wonder.

"We'a haven't been to a German'a house before, have'a we, Lovi?" Feliciano smiled, looking at his brother. Gilbert put a hand on his head, ruffling his hair before moving past him. He practically ran to the front door, grabbing it and throwing it open.

"We are home!" he called to the still house.

Two pairs of eyes looked up. One man was already on his way out the door, standing halfway between the kitchen and the living room. Relaxed now, he eased into the chair closest to him, letting out a sigh of relief and touching two fingers to the rims of his glasses. "How many times have I told you to knock?" asked Alaric, standing from his own chair. He walked around the table, grabbing the door from Gilbert's hand and looking through it.

Satisfied to see Ludwig, Alaric was about to move away from the door when he spotted the Italians. "Who are zey?" Alaric asked darkly, narrowing his eyes.

"Italians ve invited along!" Gilbert grabbed a chair, sitting in it and giving a grin to the figure behind him. "Zey are friends of Ludvig."

Ludwig waited for the Italians to enter, then shut the door. "Not my friends, I hardly even know zem." He watched the Italians settle in. One stared at the Austrian.

"Mr. Roderich?" questioned Feliciano, staring at the man with wide eyes.

The Austrian jumped. "_Du_!" he exclaimed, his own eyes widening. "And your brother, too!" His head snapped to look at Ludwig. "Vhere did you find zese two?"

"At ze camp," Gilbert explained for Ludwig. He put his feet up on the coffee table, looking at Roderich. "Did you not know? Ever since ze Italians kept losing all of zose battles, ze Germans have been training zem," he shrugged, leaning back. Alaric walked over, removing Gilbert's feet from the coffee table. The albino made a face up at him, but didn't move to replace them. "Ve have been training vith zem for ze past few veeks."

Roderich heaved back into his seat, his glasses slipping down his nose. "At least-"

"Mr. Roderich!" Feliciano jumped from the doorway, grabbing hold of the startled Austrian. He shifted, trying to slip away from the Italian but making little effort to actually remove himself. He sighed and looked away, scowling to himself and keeping his gaze from any German's eye.

Alaric turned to his grandsons. "Zere is food in ze kitchen," he said, "zere should be enough for everyvon, but if not, ve vill make more."

"Vhat is zere?" Gilbert asked, leaning back in his chair. His head fell back to look at his grandfather. Usually when they came home, Alaric and the Austrian had made dinner and dessert, respectively. Though, Roderich never cleaned up after himself, and it was mostly Ludwig who did so, despite the fact that Gilbert was the one who ate all the dessert.

"Zere vas not enough meat at ze market to make much," Alaric explained, "it was too expensive. _Aber_, ve have _Schwein_, _Kartoffeln_, _Knödel_, _und auch Kuchen_." Alaric looked at the Austrian on his last word.

Gilbert grinned, looking over at the Austrian, too. "Zere is only von zing in zis house I vant to eat,"

The man reddened and tightened his arms over his chest. "If you vant to eat, you vill go und make do vith vhat _Herr_ Beilschmidt made you. Honestly, can you not be more respectful?" He turned away again, his legs crossed now, too.

Ludwig was rounding up the Italians. "I don't'a want'a your stinky German food!" complained one, trying to move past the German, "I want'a pasta and'a pizza and not'a your food!"

Gilbert pushed past the group and got his own plate. Save for the Italians, this was the usual scene. There was a surplus of food laid out in the kitchen, and Gilbert worried in the back of his mind that both his grandfather and the Austrian skimped on their own meals to make Sunday's special. He could tell Ludwig worried, too, because he ate sparingly until one of the other men got their own plates. Unless the food was rationed out between the four of them, he wouldn't eat correctly.

Now that there were two more mouths to feed, Gilbert knew his brother would hardly take any food. Gilbert looked at the food, thought better of his meal, and took enough to spread out on his plate. Just enough to make his plate look full, and then maybe everyone else would leave something behind for him to eat later.

The beer was already sitting out for them. Gilbert took one bottle and went to the table, smirking slightly as he sat down to eat his dinner. Alaric looked at Gilbert's plate, then at Ludwig's, then at the rest of the boys and frowned to himself. Gilbert ignored his glances and stuck his fork in his mouth, laughing slightly as Ludwig walked out with three plates.

"You sit here," he told the Italians, trying to corral them into their seats, "just sit. Sit. Sit. _Setz dich_."

"But'a I want to sit'a next to you, Ludi," the lighter hair Italian whined. Gilbert started to laugh again, looking at his brother.

"Ludi?!"

"M-_mein_ name _ist_ Ludvig!" the German stuttered. "It is not Ludi!"

"Can'a I sit'a next to you?" Feliciano didn't seem to be paying attention to Ludwig's complaints. The German stared at him for a few seconds, then gave in with a sigh.

"_Ja_, I suppose so…" he said as he sank into a seat.

The darker Italian ate with a constant pout, but Feliciano ate gratefully. He talked at Ludwig through mouthfuls, and Ludwig pushed napkins in his face. Most of the German's remarks were on proper etiquette, and something about soldiers, and he couldn't eat like this on the battlefield, and then cleanliness, too.

Gilbert paid little attention to their conversation, since most of his time at the table was spent either scarfing down his food or giving the Austrian behind him half-glances that were only returned every-so-often. He gave his grandfather a few looks, too, and found him in another chair, away from the table. His grandfather mostly brooded in the corner, anyway, but sometimes he recognized that look in Ludwig's face, too.

"_Alles fertig_!" Gilbert exclaimed, standing suddenly from his chair. He startled about half of the men in the house, but grabbed only one of their hands.

"Vhat are you doing!?" Roderich snapped, following him up the stairs. "You cannot just snatch me on the arm like that, what if I had fallen?" Most of what Roderich said was complaining, anyway, so Gilbert learned to ignore him until they were alone. "What if I had wanted to eat?"

"You can eat later," Gilbert said, closing the door after him and rolling his eyes. He let go of his hand. "Just calm down." He put his hands on Roderich's hips and leaned in.

Roderich met his lips with restraint, but had leaned in with practice. They no longer stumbled in the dark, or missed mouths for cheeks, or guessed at limbs. Gilbert pushed him towards his bed and Roderich fell back on it, his arms wrapped around Gilbert's neck to bring him with.

Once these covers had smelled familiar, of his own scent, but now they were of a scent he forgot every week until he was in it again. At first they stayed on top, lips moving against each other until they were caught in teeth, but as Gilbert worked his hands into Roderich's clothing, the other began to draw them out and over his body. As his own hands felt over Gilbert's chest and removed his uniform, first pushing off that heavy jacket and then slipping up his undershirt, he placed the covers over Gilbert, too, and hid them both in the fabric.

Gilbert kept in between Roderich's legs, running his hand over his smooth, soft skin, then hooking his fingers under his knee and drawing his leg over his own hip. The first sound was made, a gasp of a moan, and Gilbert ran his fingers from Roderich's knee down to his calf, lengthening his leg until it stretched past his hip and allowed Gilbert some entrance. Roderich looked up at him, and they both paused, watching each other's eyes until they had savored the moment.

Gilbert put his hand on Roderich's waist again and slipped his fingers down, pushing two fingers into him. Roderich gave a soft grunt, his hips jumping slightly and staying raised until Gilbert had worked his fingers a little longer. Soon Gilbert replaced his fingers with him, and Roderich's mouth opened to breathy moans. He was always quiet, no matter how his body twisted and screamed for more. It was understandable, and meant for both their safeties, but Gilbert wished it could be like before. Roderich wasn't as afraid then, of anything.

Roderich's body rocked with each thrust, and the bed groaned under their thrown weights, until each of their bodies shuddered with release. Slowly releasing a breath, Gilbert carefully laid by Roderich, being careful not to jostle him too much. Their bodies came close together, with Roderich's head ducking into Gilbert's chest.

Gilbert's arms encircled Roderich's body, and Roderich's arms did the same. As their bodies cooled off, Roderich began to twitch slightly. He pushed Gilbert's feet away. "You are taking up my space," he said in a murmur.

"This is my space. This is my bed." Gilbert murmured back into Roderich's hair.

"I use it." Gilbert didn't argue anymore, running his hand up and down Roderich's back. The other's body shifted, hesitated, and then pressed closer to Gilbert. He opened his eyes. This room was his, but Roderich's scent lingered all over it. He was the one who stayed in it, until Sunday came, but Gilbert was the one who owned it, ever since he came to his grandfather's house. It seemed so unfamiliar when he was in it alone, even with his belongings strewn where he had left them, but with Roderich, it was warm and comfortable again. With Roderich in his bed, everything was just as he wanted it to be, and he was home.

Translation:

Anything written with an accent is spoken in English. Anything written without an accent is spoken in that character's respective tongue.

Schweige! - A ruder form of "Shut up!"

Was? - What?

Stupido - Stupid

Wagen - Refers to a car.

Sonntag - Sunday

Ja - Yes

Du! - You!

Aber, ve have Schwein, Kartoffeln, Knödel, und auch Kuchen. - "But, we have pork, potatoes, dumplings, and also cakes."

Herr - "Mr.," as in, "Mr. Beilschmidt."

Setz dich - Sit down.

Mein - My

Ist - Is

Alles fertig! - All done!


	2. Lovers

Waking up, Gilbert first saw Roderich's face. The bags under his eyes had Gilbert wondering how well Roderich had been sleeping as of late, considering all that had happened. Foremost, there was the trouble that Gilbert was going to be deployed soon. That fact loomed over the two, and Gilbert could tell that the news had Roderich on edge. Gilbert hadn't been planning on telling the man-he had found out somehow. After they talked about it, Roderich seemed to change even more: his head hung lower than usual, and his anxiety had spiked to a level far exceeding Gilbert's own.

Roderich was stronger than one would expect, being a well-schooled young man who spent all his time practicing music. For all the times Gilbert had called him a "priss" and a "sissy boy" when they were younger, he was hardly cowardly. After all, he wasn't afraid to stay in Germany when things started to go downhill. He braved the possibility of being seen, of being captured by the enemy. He was a bit too brave at times, as he still went into town, many times without permission. But, the town was only a walk away, and Gilbert was content to find that he wandered no further. Roderich had confined himself to Germany; remaining within the country posed an obvious risk, but trying to leave it would fare worse.

Gilbert glanced down to Roderich's neck. The man was so stubborn. Capture weighed heavy on his mind, producing weeks of nightmares, but there remained his Star, kept loose around his neck. Gilbert, despite his concern for Roderich, felt as though empathy was impossible. It was enough that he couldn't even begin to fathom the loss of family, friends, and associates implied, but he had joined the very ranks of his oppressors. He was, no matter what he tried, the Wehrmacht's soldier, and any attempts at comfort seemed futile. None of this had been his decision; Gilbert had protested the draft, but his grandfather, a veteran himself, urged pride in their country, and therefore in the Wehrmacht. Ludwig was proud; Gilbert had been initially proud. It was a sore realization to see the truth.

He shifted his eyes and found Roderich's open, caught in some unspoken fear. Gilbert frowned. It was as though Roderich was incapable of articulating anything other than distaste. "Vhat?" Gilbert asked, expecting a jolt from the Austrian in his arms.

"There is someone here," Roderich replied in German, having favored the language ever since the propaganda had begun. It usually put him in most people's favor, since a person couldn't exactly be determined as an "undesirable" just by their appearance; unaccented German convinced most people of his "purity." Roderich's religious practices, so often a reason for his fussing, were no longer seen, let alone mentioned. Roderich had only fussed about his practices before any of the propaganda had taken over, and had now committed himself to avoiding them. Though he hesitantly looked at his food each time it was put before him, he would eat it with no further questions.

Gilbert pursed his lips. Either way, Roderich was paranoid and jumpy now, and being locked up in this house with his sulky grandfather was no help. "Look, it is probably no one," Gilbert replied in English, suddenly accustomed to it. The Italians had him speaking it, just from listening to their conversations with West. He didn't switch languages, instead pressing on in English to show Roderich that there was no cause for worry.

Roderich didn't look so convinced; he strained to hear the voices downstairs. Gilbert sighed and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing Roderich's glasses and then shoving them onto his face. Roderich pushed his hands away angrily. "I am going to go downstairs. Are you hungry? I vill bring you some food,"

Roderich rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking annoyed. "Fine," he said, still in German, "be quick about it. And I can put my glasses on myself."

"You did not take zem off by yourself," Gilbert replied, grinning back at him and moving to get dressed. As he started towards the kitchen, the voices became clearer, and he heard a familiar Spanish accent drifting through the door.

"I haven't seen you in years and this is how you greet me!?"

"Is that Antonio I see!?" called Gilbert, grinning already. "Everyone is visiting today!"

"_Amigo_!" Antonio hugged his friend tightly, with Gilbert returning the embrace.

They pulled away, still grinning. "Vhat are you doing here?" asked Gilbert, looking over his friend. He didn't look like some pesky farm boy anymore. He was still as tan as before, but his face seemed hardened. There were features Gilbert hadn't seen before: a few scars here and there, noticeable near his eyes, all giving away his involvement in the war.

"Passing through," replied Antonio, smiling cheerily.

Gilbert laughed. "No von just 'passes through' _Deutschland_ anymore, zat is a zing of ze past," As he spoke, his smile tightened, and he could see his own troubled expression reflected in Antonio's.

"Eh," Antonio grabbed at a beer, then put his arm around an Italian nearby, "this is my Italian, the one I told you about!" He grinned.

"Is it!?" Gilbert stuck his hand out, then took it back, laughing. "Vait, I already met him. But really!? Vhat a small world," he commented, looking over the pouty Italian. He motioned towards the other one. "Zat one is stuck to Vest like glue," he said.

Antonio smiled, looking back Ludwig. "That's good, usually he would be afraid of him," he said.

Gilbert shrugged, putting a beer to his lips. "It does not seem like it, though I do not know what he sees in that muscle-bound, battle-crazy guy," He glanced at Ludwig, smirking to himself. "Earlier he vas lecturing him about eating on the battlefield."

Antonio laughed now, his hand working twists in his Italian's pants. Lovino sat there, eyebrow twitching, his jaw set, and tried not to look directly at Gilbert. It looked like Antonio just wanted to hold his Italian, and stroke his hair, but he withheld his desires. Gilbert pushed a thumb to his lip, eyebrows knitted.

"Gilbert?" Antonio blinked. Gilbert looked up at him, blinking away troublesome thoughts. "You must be maturing," he said, grinning, "I said, Ludwig really dedicates himself to his work, huh?"

Giving his friend a befuddled look, Gilbert nodded, shifting. "_Ja_, zat is how he has always been," he answered, still musing over his friend's earlier comment.

He didn't notice the silence until Antonio broke it. "Is something bothering you?" he asked, his smile disappearing.

"Bothering me?" Gilbert repeated, squinting at Antonio. "No! I am normal," he said, and to prove it, he gave his friend a grin. Antonio smiled back, but he looked worried. Gilbert frowned. He didn't like this. Usually when his friend came over, they had fun, got drunk, had a good time. If anything was bothering him, it was this change in behavior. "Quit looking at me like zat. Do I have somezing on my face?" He gave his face a good, hard rub. "Vhat? You need more beer. Ve need more beer."

He went to gather more, drinking until he had his friend rather drunk. There was an easy smile on Antonio's face, and a sway to his actions. Gilbert didn't notice this in himself until the table suddenly flew up towards his face.

He saw his hands push into his vision, catching him only by last-minute instinct. "Whoa," Antonio laughed, "be careful, _amigo_, _amigito_, _amigo_..."

A laugh escaped Gilbert's throat, as if he'd been holding it in, but by the look on his grandfather's face, their laughter had gotten a little loud lately. The world spun as he moved his fists towards the ceiling, stretching until he heard a satisfying, wet pop in his back. "Yeeeeaaah! Zat is good," he said, sitting down again to conversation. It was interrupted only as Roderich hesitantly looked into the room.

"Roderich!" cried Antonio, laughing and waving at the other.

Roderich relaxed, his shoulders dropping at the sight of friendly company. "Antonio," he breathed, as if his chest were constricted, "it _ist_ nice to see you. How have you been?"

Gilbert took another drink from his beer, moving only when the Austrian finally settled his stare on him. He snickered, swinging to his feet, "I vas supposed to get him food. If you are hungry, Antonio, zere ist food in ze kitchen."

Antonio waved his hand, saying, "_Gracias_. I am happy here, with Lovino." He gave his Italian a stupid grin, and Gilbert felt his smile widen at it.

He strutted into the kitchen, holding onto whatever was on hand in order to keep himself up. "You are not really that drunk, are you?" Roderich asked in German, aiming to have a private conversation. Though, Antonio understood German, and at this volume, would certainly hear them.

"No, I am just having fun," Gilbert's fingers jabbed through glass cups, rolling one out into his palm. He turned and found Roderich staring at the glass. "Vhat? You are not zirsty?" Roderich grumbled and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "I said I am sorry, all right," Gilbert groaned, turning back to the cupboard and stuffing the glass back into it. In the back of his mind, he wondered if anything had cracked, considering the noise his glass had made.

"You certainly did not," Roderich said, frowning, "and my nose does not hurt anymore, this is simply what people with glasses do."

"So should I put beer in your tea?" Gilbert held up a kettle, grinning. "Or did you not want tea either, because you are not thirsty?"

"Give me that," Roderich jerked the kettle away from Gilbert, adjusting his glasses and putting the kettle on the stove. "You do not do well with the kettle, anyway."

"Vhat!? Zere is nothing to it, all you do is boil some leaves," Gilbert groaned. "And the strainer thing."

Roderich didn't reply, working over his kettle. Gilbert blew air from his nose, his lips pressing into a thin line as he stared at the other's back. His gaze fell, dropping to the Austrian's bent knee. The other male stood as though he was in pain. Gilbert took a deep breath, then crossed the kitchen. "Did I hurt you or somezing?" he asked, putting his hands on the Austrian's waist and looking down at his knee.

"_Vhat_?" Roderich's tone softened. "Hm? No, it just feels better when I do this." He looked down at his knee and placed his foot flat on the ground.

"Vhy are you all pissed off?" Gilbert grinned and Roderich glared back at him. "Vere you really zat hungry?"

"You were taking too long," Roderich said, staring at the kettle. "You are still taking too long," he commented, turning back and finding Gilbert's hands empty.

"Ach, okay already," Gilbert turned away, starting to serve the Austrian. After a period of silence, Gilbert continued. "So, vhat, did you zink zat somevon stole me?"

"I could hear your noisy voice after a while," Roderich answered, in his usual, vague manner. Gilbert gave the other's back a look, but smiled. That was a yes in its own way.

The kettle whistled and Roderich started, despite having obviously expected it: his tea cup was held at the ready. After serving himself, he moved wordlessly out of the kitchen, and Gilbert followed him with his plate.

"Veeee are going to bed, Antonio," Gilbert said, leaning over the table to pick up his beer and drink what was left of it. "I vill see you tomorrow, right?" He gave his friend a pat on the back, looking down at him.

Antonio nodded, smiling. "I'll be here in the morning," he confirmed, and turned to look at Lovino. The Italian looked vaguely like he'd just seen a bug crawl. "_Buenas noches_," Antonio said, smiling back up at Gilbert.

"Yeah, yeah, goodnight," Gilbert patted his back again, grinning, and turned to face Roderich. "Goodnight, Vest! _Großvater_!" He waved at them, only getting a look or a nod from each of them. Roderich said his goodnight's, too, and then the two of them were off upstairs.

"Ach, I am always going to bed early because of you," Gilbert said, closing the door after Roderich, "it is not like you have anything to do in the morning."

Roderich looked back at him, but turned back to the bed shortly. He sat down, drinking some of his tea. "Vhy are you not eating at the desk? Vhy are you eating at my bed?" Gilbert set the other's plate down on his desk. "Come drink your tea over here."

The other got up, moving to the desk with his tea cup to his lips. He sat down, setting down his cup delicately. Gilbert watched him, waiting to see any hesitation before moving onto the bed himself.

He groaned. "I will be here if you need me," he said, face buried in the covers. He took in their scent, pleased to find that his own hadn't masked Roderich's. He glanced back at Roderich for a second, shrugging when the other chose to focus on his meal instead of trying conversation. Gilbert turned back to the covers, laying his cheek into them again and waiting.

The silence thickened. With the lack of conversation, Gilbert ended up dozing off.

Gilbert had his nose buried in soft, Austrian hair when Ludwig knocked on his door. Usually he ignored each knock, but he was so comfortable, even with Roderich's glasses poking at him, that he figured this was around the second or third knock. It certainly sounded like it.

"_Bruder_! _Bruder_, wake up! This is no time for slacking! If you want to eat, you had better wake up now! We are going to be late!"

The Austrian in his arms was shifting, changing position, but he seemed just as far gone as Gilbert. He looked tired, as if this was the most sleep he'd gotten all week.

It probably helped that whenever Gilbert came, Roderich got a little exercise. Gilbert snickered and Roderich opened his eyes, staring at Gilbert's chest. "See? You never take your glasses off," said Gilbert.

Roderich turned away, towards the night table. "This is your fault."

"My fault!?" Gilbert cried, suddenly sitting up in bed. "How is it my fault!?"

"I was tired after eating, so as opposed to changing into my night clothes and taking off my glasses, I got into bed and fell asleep."

"But you asked for the food," Gilbert grumbled.

"I did not." Roderich had his hands under his pillow. "How much time do you have left?" he asked.

"Ludwig is going crazy at my door, so I guess, not a lot." Gilbert looked at his door, frowning slightly.

"Then I suppose you had better get dressed." Their eyes dropped to the _Wehrmacht _uniform on the floor. Roderich moved to get it, but Gilbert jumped out of bed first and started dressing.

"Well, however much time we have left, Ludwig usually has us in way early, so I think I still have plenty of time." Gilbert got onto the bed again, smirking. "So let us sleep some more."

"That uniform is much too uncomfortable for me, so please, at least leave the jacket off." Gilbert quickly shed the jacket and put his arms around Roderich, kissing him suddenly. Eyes closed, Roderich kissed him back, his hand moving to cup Gilbert's arm.

Between men, one would think a kiss felt rough and unnatural, as if it weren't supposed to happen and someone was rubbing sandpaper together, but Roderich's lips were soft and inviting, making small, pleasant sounds as they were kissed. Even when Gilbert climbed on top of him, they were still inviting, and so that was all they did, fingering clothes and the skin under them but never quite peeling them away. As the embrace wound down, Gilbert began to run his lips along Roderich's skin, making him quiver.

Roderich had his eyes closed, so Gilbert kept his voice low. "Hey," he said. Roderich didn't move. "I am going to go."

At that, Roderich opened his eyes. "Right now?"

"_Ja_." Gilbert nodded. "Ludwig has already come back a couple of times."

"I will come with you," Roderich said, starting to gather up the covers.

"Just stay here and sleep," Gilbert buttoned up his jacket and started out, smirking back at Roderich as he followed him. "You really cannot do anything without me, can you? Without me, I bet you could not even get my closet open."

"I cannot open it because you break it every time you come!" Roderich scowled at him, walking at his side as they made their way downstairs.

"_Amigo_!" Antonio called, laughing as his friend walked down the stairs. "It is time for you to go already?"

"_Ja_, Ludvig has us back before anybody," Gilbert smirked and dropped into a seat, kicking his feet up. Ludwig approached his brother from behind, pulling him from his seat.

"Ve have no time to eat anymore," he said, grabbing Gilbert and moving to gather the other Italian under his arm.

Gilbert worked his way out from under his brother's clenching elbow, slipping out towards Roderich. "I vill only be von second!" he cried, waving back at his brother and then catching Roderich's arms in his hands. He pressed him into a hallway, pushing their lips together again. Gilbert pulled back, looking into Roderich's eyes. "I will be back next Sunday," he said, smiling and pulling away.

Translation:

Note: Anything written with an accent is spoken in English; anything written without an accent is spoken in that character's respective tongue. Since Spanish accents are more of an inflection, they are not written.

Deutschland - Germany.

Ja - Yes.

...amigo, amigito, amigo... - Antonio is simply referring to Gilbert as "friend" here; the -ito ending is a diminutive implying smallness or affection.

Gracias - Thank you.

Buenas noches - Good night.

Großvater - Grandfather.

Bruder - Brother.

Wehrmacht - The German army


End file.
